Jiang Feng hesitated for three days.
He didn't quite dare to open Han Guishan's memories.
During these three days, he still went to Han Guishan's house every day to make pickled vegetable dumplings, and Han Guishan did not lose his composure again, remaining the usually smiling Good Taste boss, but the painful expression on his face that day was deeply imprinted in Jiang Feng's mind.
What sort of tragic recollection could make a middle-aged man who had been through thick and thin cry out loud so uncontrollably?
Jiang Feng considered himself not someone who could handle melodrama. If Han Guishan's memory involved some sort of departure or death, and Jiang Feng couldn't exit in the middle of experiencing it, he was afraid his heart couldn't take it.
After making mental preparations for a full three days, Jiang Feng took a deep breath and clicked "yes" on the selection option.
Jiang Feng fell into a mist of white.
It was a train station.